Under Lock and Key
by Erkith
Summary: Russell is lost in the realm of books, driving poor Holmes out of his mind with boredom. What happens when he's had enough? Russell's about to fall prey to a brilliant mind with nothing better to do than plot and write his own biography.
1. Blind Desperation

**Disclaimer**: Based on Laurie R. King's Mary Russell novels, of which I am clearly not the author. I claim no ownership of characters or any other novel extracts.

**Author's Note from Erkith:** I've only recently begun following Russell's adventures, so actual events of the books may differ from what is written here… in fact, it is my intention to do just that. Play with the "what if"s.

Always been a big fan of Holmes, I can't help but write from his perspective, though I've another Russell fic in mind… I'll get that out there soon I hope…

Please enjoy!

_**Erkith

* * *

**_

**Under Lock and Key**

Chapter 1: Blind Desperation

By now, as you are reading this sorry document, you have no doubt read the works of my two separate biographers; neither of which are without their inaccuracies.

Where Watson, my first biographer, excelled was in snaring the mind of the average reader into what can only be labeled as an intriguing set of mysteries. Unfortunately, in his collaboration with the infernal Conan Doyle, Watson has neglected entire facets of my character and much of the art of deduction. His recounts are incomplete and romantic. You would be hard pressed to find one of my failures in his collection of cases. I don't imagine that the thought of including them even crossed his loyal mind. My dear Watson would consider it a betrayal of our friendship.

Thus, my life became a myth – much to the amusement of my wife.

Russell has felt no such compulsion to glorify me into legend. Her narratives are – no doubt at my influence – long, detailed accounts wrought with uncompromised truth and, yes, some of my less brilliant moments. The woman spares me very little sympathy. She tends to bask in my blunders, as one does under a rare London sun. Do note that I say this with some tolerance, for I am well aware that I exhibit equally irritating qualities.

Of the two, I find Russell is the more effective biographer, given: knowledge and intuition far surpassing my friend's, years under my tutelage, hours spent studying my notebooks, and being my wife and partner; this is not surprising. She possesses a superior grasp on my motivations. Still, even she is blind in some areas.

It is only now, in my boredom, that I deign to correct them – does that not say something about the depth of the monotony plaguing my life at the moment?

There are no cases of interest laying themselves before my well-rested eyes. My tools rust and become dust-covered as in-action expands them to relics. I've literally nothing to do here in Sussex other than tend my bees; which, while demanding, does not stimulate my mind. Even Russell ceases to amuse, but then she is perhaps a catalyst in my restless disposition.

My Russ is blind in one area – herself. She cannot fathom the depth of the feelings I hold for her, nor does she see the hurt her absorption inflicts in my person. She is so enthralled in her Hebrew _lecture _that _I_ can go entire days without inciting so much as a passing glance from her, never mind a word or question. She has not even noticed when I have secluded myself for days at a time. I'm at the point where I bring her coffee, simply so I may receive the automatic thank you.

I'm getting desperate.

Last week, I considered returning to drugs to see if that snapped her nose out of her books. Immature, but my desperation is out of control. She barely responds to direct stimuli. She ignores questions, falls asleep at her desk, and eats with fork in hand and book on lap. Would she even notice?

Her studies consume her completely, leaving her blind to all else – or is it just me…

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**A/N:** Comments (reviews) are much appreciated

a) Because I write faster that way

b) Because then my writing improves :D

Hope you enjoyed this chap!


	2. Experimental Ideas

**Disclaimer**: Based on Laurie R. King's Mary Russell novels, of which I am clearly not the author. I claim no ownership of characters or any other novel extracts.

**Author's Note from Erkith:** I've only recently begun following Russell's adventures, so actual events of the books may differ from what is written here… in fact, it is my intention to do just that. Play with the "what if"s.

Always been a big fan of Holmes, I can't help but write from his perspective, though I've another Russell fic in mind… I'll get that out there soon I hope…

Please enjoy!

_**Erkith

* * *

**_

**Under Lock and Key**

Chapter Two: Experimental Ideas

I fear that I have perhaps exaggerated the situation, or at least my reaction to it. Upon rereading I sound rather like a petulant child. Thus, to clarify, I feel I must impose upon you the observation that I have not yet slunk back into the opium dens, nor thrown myself in front of an oncoming streetcar. I am merely concerned.

As Watson's readers will note, I am not a person unaccustomed to large bouts of preoccupation and complete antisocialism. I have passed many hours alone with a full mind and violin or pipe in hand.

Russell's will no doubt have noticed that our marriage has its own little rules, and fully comprehends the need for lengthy separations – not terribly unlike that of Mahmoud's; although, for very different reasons.

So, by all accounts, I should understand.

However, it is one thing to be physically separated, and another to be completely ignored for what is approaching a month. I find myself profoundly grateful that both Moriarty and his daughter are deceased, for I sincerely doubt Russell would take notice them unless there was a gun barrel pressed to the base of her skull.

Yesterday, as an experiment, I attempted to shut her books, only to deflect a blow aimed directly at my throat.

"Holmes! What on Earth were you doing?" Russell exclaimed. My wife lowered her arm.

"Why, an experiment Russell." I answered, grinning as I rubbed my arm that had shielded the blow.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "On?"

"My newest monograph." There is no such thing of course. That should be plainly obvious.

"Oh really." She arched a brow at me as she sat down again. "I wasn't aware that you were in the process of writing one."

"Yes, well you weren't aware that I was standing behind you either." Nor, apparently, that I was now lying to her.

"I guess I've been a bit distracted of late."

To this I raised a brow. Not that she noticed. "What is it you're working on?"

She gave me a short explanation, little of which I absorbed. I have little patience for theology, and even less than usual at the moment. I gave the piles of scrolls on the desk a glare. Her hands were absently stroking their parchment, and her body was unconsciously turning towards them – classic body language.

Russell was more than ready to slip back to her academic comatose. Her body was screaming it, even as her mouth absently filled me in, as per my request. She was indulging me.

I barely contained the low hiss of anger. "Very well, would you care to join me for a walk?"

She turned her back. "No thanks, Holmes. I'll just continue on…" She trailed off.

"When you have a moment there's something I'd like to have you translate."

"For your monograph?"

"For a case."

She glanced back and frowned. "Sure."

I said nothing. Hoping…

She hesitated, but then her books called to her, and she was gone.

As I seated my self in my study, I let out a breath of relief. Inventing that had been a bit rash. Should she have taken me up on that translation now I'd have had nothing to show.

I sat back and lit my pipe.

"What one has to do to gain your attention, Russell." I muttered.

But for just a moment I'd had her.

I smiled as an idea formed.

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**A/N:** Comments (reviews) are much appreciated. Not to mention that I'm curious as to how many Laurie R. King readers there are out there.

a) Because I write faster that way

b) Because then my writing improves :D

Hope you enjoyed this chap!


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